Book 1 - James Potter and the Hall of Elders' Crossing

And we hope that the Ravenclaws know that they’re done,
When the lion team drops down on them like a ton.
Ohhh, the game can be tough and the body checks harsh,
And you might find your Seeker’s been tossed in the marsh,
But we Gryffindors with our goodwill are not sparse,
So we’ll warn you before we kick you in the—
The last words were drowned out by the mingled roars and cheers of the Gryffindors and the boos
and catcalls of the Ravenclaws. The Gremlins bowed deeply, grinning, obviously pleased with themselves,
and then joined their teammates as they ran out to the Quidditch pitch for final preparations.
The first and last matches of the Quidditch season, as James knew, were always the best attended. At
the end of the year, during final tournaments, everyone knew that, whichever teams were playing, they’d be
exciting matches. At the beginning of the year, though, people were excited and hopeful for their own House
teams. Most matches saw the grandstands filled with students and teachers, decked out in their team colors
and waving flags and banners. As James entered the pitch, he was delighted to see and hear the enthusiastic
crowd. Students milled and shouted to each other as they filed into their seats. The teachers mostly sat at the
tops of the sections dedicated to their houses. As James climbed the stairs into the Gryffindor section, he saw
his dad seated near the press box, flanked by the Ministry officials on his right and the Alma Aleron
delegation on his left. Harry saw James and waved him up, smiling broadly. As James reached him, Harry
orchestrated a complicated rearrangement of the seating that, while only freeing a single seat for James,
required nearly everyone in the group to move. James mumbled apologies, but didn’t really mind seeing the
look of annoyance on Ms. Sacarhina’s face, masked thinly by her omnipresent plastic smile.
“As I was saying, yes, we do have Quidditch in the States,” Professor Franklyn said to Harry, his
voice carrying over the dull roar of the assembling crowd, “but for some reason, it isn’t quite as popular as
sports like swivenhodge, grungeball or broomstick gauntlet. Our World Cup team shows some promise this
year, though, or so I am told. I tend to remain skeptical.”
James glanced around at the Americans, curious to see who was in attendance and what they seemed
to think of the match so far. Madame Delacroix was seated on the end of the row, her face expressionless and
her hands folded tightly on her lap so that they looked unpleasantly like a ball of brown knuckles. Professor
Jackson glanced at James and nodded in greeting. James saw that his black leather case, with its inexplicable
cargo, was sitting between his feet, securely closed this time. Professor Franklyn was dressed in what passed
for his dress robes, with a high white collar and a frilly ascot at his throat, and his square spectacles which
caught the light cheerfully as he looked around the grandstands.
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